Clover stirs as faint moaning breaks the peaceful slumber, the gentle creak and rock of the ship unable to drown it out. She lays in her hammock, unwilling to open her eyes.
 
Maybe she can sleep through it? It sounds like Sabre, but it’s much too close to be him.
 
Clover hears the rattling of rain against the ship’s hull, as a large wave swings her hammock softly. She can hear the distant shouting of the crew as they battle the storm.
 
It’s late. Very late; the portholes of the ship dark, occasional splashes of sea water and rain almost enough to drown out the commotion below.
 
Is he still thumping around down there? Maybe she should check it out.
 
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